


Sharp Dressed Man

by Wishme



Series: 30 Day OTP Challenge [7]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Fallen Castiel, M/M, Makeouts, Shopping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-14
Updated: 2013-06-14
Packaged: 2017-12-14 22:16:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/841977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wishme/pseuds/Wishme
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cas needs clothes and Dean has no self-control.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sharp Dressed Man

The first stop after Cas is well enough to move about and not take fifty zillion naps a day is the Goodwill.

 

Sam declines to come along, gesturing to the actual piles of books he has stacked around him in an attempt to figure out the falling angel thing. “It might actually be quiet enough to get some work done without you moping around,” he quips as they head toward the door.  Dean aims a kick at Sam’s ankle.

 

Pulling the Impala into a spot right by the door Dean ticks off items on his fingers, “Jeans, shirts, PJs, Jacket, boots. Hunter tuxedo.” He grins at Cas who repeats the items back. Dean nods and in they go.

 

The tough thing about the angel peering at shirts across the rack from him is that he has no concept of what is appropriate to wear. He first gravitated towards the rack with the brightly colored mumus and then the ragged tweed suits. Dean steered him to the functional shirt rack and now there he is, poking at each and every one before moving to the next. He’s currently wearing a pair of Dean’s jeans and one of Sam’s old shirts, the former sagging a bit low on his hips, the latter just a bit too long. From there Dean can approximate his size and he starts pulling items. By the time they’ve reached the end of the rack, Dean has about twelve plain t-shirts in various colors and eight over shirts, as well as two pairs of jeans—one dark wash, one lighter. He grabs a henley or two from the next rack over, just to be safe. Cas has in his hands one black collared shirt. Dean rolls his eyes and herds him to the dressing room.

 

The pants fit fine, or will once they grab a good belt to secure them on his narrow hips. Dean was surprised by the muscles outlined in the denim and plain green tee. Cas might not be as broad as Dean or as buff as Sam, but he’s built, strong runners legs leading to a lean torso and arms. He’s graceful too, Dean notices as Cas swings around to take a look at his back, drawing attention to his rather nice ass. Dean shoves that thought away and pushes the angel back into the dressing room with a gruff, “Those work great, next round.”

 

They leave about half the undershirts (“This one is itchy.” “This one has three holes in it.”) and all but two of the overshirts . They grab a broken in, but still in great shape, leather belt with a nice brass buckle from the rack. And then Cas tries on his black shirt. 

It’s nothing special, really, just a black cotton blend, long sleeved, standard collar. Cas exits the dressing room, finishes rolling the left sleeve halfway up his forearm and looks up at Dean expectantly. Dean can’t speak.

 

The shirt skims Cas’s chest almost like it was tailor made, but for the slightly too large shoulders. The cut accentuates the dip of Cas’s waist at the beltline, highlighting the firm muscles of his torso. With the sleeves rolled up Dean can’t help but linger on his friend’s strong forearms and graceful hands. Dean just stares, silent. Cas starts to fidget and Dean rests a hand on his arm to stop him. He’d only meant to ask his friend to give him a second, but once his hand wraps around Cas’s wrist they both still. Cas opens his mouth to say something, but it’s cut off by Dean crushing his mouth against his, pushing them both into the changing room. Dean’s hands stroke along Cas’s arms, up the long side seam of his torso, before dragging the edges out of the waistband of his jeans to, _finally_ , skim along his warm skin. Cas’s hands are fisted in the collar of Dean’s shirt, anchoring their mouths together, his tongue dipping in, sweeping back, gliding over Dean’s until neither are sure if they’re still standing upright. Desperate for air they step back, panting into each others’ mouths. Dean’s tongue darts out to lick a stripe up Cas’s jaw and the angel moans. All of a sudden they both remember where they are, crowded into the corner of a dressing room in a goddamn Goodwill in Kansas and they start laughing. Once they finally stop, Dean reaches out to straighten Cas’s shirt, ignoring the tightness in both Cas’s and his own jeans, lightly brushing his lips against his friend’s before stepping back and picking up the clothes. They wander the rest of the store to flesh out their purchases, hands brushing together, stealing small glances and shy smiles. They find a pair of boots and a blue jacket similar to the one slung over Dean’s shoulder. They decide they can skip the PJs.

  

Cas gets to keep the shirt. 


End file.
